Les Amants de la Nuit
by pigeonattack
Summary: Some boarding school rules were made to be broken. AU
1. Part I

**Surprise! \(^_^)/**

**Hearts Day two-shot. It's a little different from what you might expect of pigeonattack, but I'm pretty satisfied, so… Enjoy.~**

**The title is in the language of l'amour. ;D**

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><p><span>Les Amants de la<span>Nuit

_Part I_

"It cannot be good for your health to stare at that screen all day."

The boy with the white hair looked up from his laptop, fingers pausing. "Hm?"

The dark-haired boy leaned back into an adjacent armchair, looking him right in the eye. "I believe you need more stimulus. Statistics show that those who spend four-plus hours on their computers begin to show signs of introvers—"

"I'm fine. And I don't stare at this screen all day."

"Aside from classes and sleep, Otto, you do."

"I appreciate your concern, Wing. I'm fine." Otto returned his gaze to the computer screen, fingers launching into another sequence too rapid for Wing's eyes to follow.

"It is being because the system is depriving him of the pleasures of youth, and he, for all his genius, is too obtuse to be realizing it," a large blonde boy whispered loudly to Wing, coming up behind his chair.

"Thank you, Franz. I realize that." Wing looked in concern at his albino friend. "Speaking of which, wasn't there something you had planned for Nigel—"

"Oh, ja, I almost forgot!" Franz theatrically smacked his forehead, jumping up. "Nigel has been having the same problems as dear Otto, except he's too smart to be stubborn. He knows that I am having his best interest in heart…" Muttering to himself in German, he ran off in the direction of the Block Seven dormitories.

Poor Nigel. Wing was quite certain things would not be pretty for the small, bespectacled boy.

The Nero Academy for Gifted Boys was a renowned school, remotely located in a nameless region of the English countryside. Most of its students were legacies; the rest had been personally sought out by the headmaster himself, and brought to the school by his "assistant" (and though many rumors circulated regarding her true relationship to the headmaster, no one dared say them aloud in front of Raven, due to the odd disappearances of the last few boys who'd dared). Wing himself was somewhat of a legacy, while Otto had been scooped out of a random orphanage in London, and seemed to be the strangest of the motley of boys at the Academy. For one thing, he never gave more than a quick glance to the next, spending the rest of his time languishing before the computer, yet his scores were at the top of the class (except in physicals, at which he was about average).

The Academy was a perfectly lovely environment for learning, and its students consistently performed at the top of the nation, but as with most all-boy boarding schools, particularly those whose strict rules prohibited students from venturing off grounds, there was one glaring problem.

It had to do with the fact that these boys were teenagers. _And_ gifted.

Yes.

In fact, Wing was currently pondering how, like so many before him, he might put those gifts to use to assist his friend.

"Otto."

"Mm."

"Tomorrow is Valentine's Day."

"Yay for hearts and roses and… what else happens? Oh, yeah, pink and hearts and…" he trailed off, reabsorbed in his laptop.

"What is going to happen," Wing explained patiently, feeling a little silly to have to explain such a subject (in which he was far from adequate himself) to his friend, "is that a great many young people our age will exchange tokens of affection, go out, do something fun, and possibly fall in love—"

"…something 'fun'."

Wing blushed. "L-like, you know, see a movie or… or sit at a café…"

"I know what they do on Valentine's Day. I spent ten precious minutes researching it thoroughly the other day. It sounds pointless, frivolous, and utterly absur—"

"This year," Wing continued loudly, "you, for your own good, are going to participate."

"No." Otto said it calmly, flatly. "I am _not_. That's stupid."

"Listen, Otto, you have been wiling your soul away, staring at that computer screen day and night doing god knows _what_, wasting your time when you obviously need human interaction that only the other fifty percent of the human race can provide, because anyone would go quickly insane when cooped up without said interaction—"

"What about you?"

Wing paused. "What _about_ me?"

"Are you going quickly insane?" Otto neatly shut his laptop, leaning back and crossing his arms with a featureless expression on his face. It was the first time he'd given Wing— anyone— his full, undivided attention in… weeks. "Or is there something I should be knowing about?"

Wing furrowed his brow. "I myself am not going insane. You must understand, Otto, that there are three types of people in this school."

"There are four, actually."

Wing pursed his lips. "I don't mean streams. I mean… there are three types of people: Those who are steadily drowning from lack of female interaction and bottled up hormones, those who have shut themselves off from the world, and those… those who are so desperate, they take matters into their own hands."

"…like sneaking off at night."

A small smile pulled at Wing's lips. "Perhaps."

"You… you don't say?"

"I do say."

Otto quickly recomposed himself. "Well, I'm definitely in the second group."

"Shutting yourself of is even worse than drowning, in a way. Did you know that most all-boys' and all-girls' schools hold functions where one can mingle with the opposite sex?"

"But some schools don't. Like ours."

Was Otto actually sounding sour about that fact? Wing cautiously went on. "Correct. Girls tend to do better with gender-isolation than boys, for some unfathomable reason—"

"Yeah. Lucky them."

"—but it is not like there is nothing we can do about our isolation."

Otto's eyes slowly widened. "No…" but it was more of a sound of amazement than a negation.

Wing smirked. "Yes."

"What kind of desperate fool would—"

"_I_ was not desperate. I was simply curious. I am sure you would have been as well, had your nose not been in that wad of metal every day for the last few years."

"You…you…." Otto seemed at a lost for words, incredulous, but also impressed.

"Yes." Wing smiled smugly.

"…how often?"

Wing shrugged. "Once a month or so. It is surprisingly easy. In fact, I only once ran into a guard, and do you know what? He just winked and turned the other way! I think they feel a little sorry for us. I mean, they, too, were once teenagers."

"So… are you suggesting that I…"

"Of course."

"But you're the ninja-master-ish one. You're the ones with top scores in P.E., and I'm sure _I_ couldn't scale buildings and slide down waterspouts and such—"

Wing snorted. "How glamorous your notions are. I do no such things. In any case, you yourself are not so hopeless. What say we try tonight?"

Otto looked amazed. "Is this the same Wing I've known for years? Suddenly, you seem a lot more impulsive, risk-taking, into girls…"

Wing shook his head, smiling. "Impulsive is hardly the right word to describe one who plans these excursions all month for a mere three hours of freedom. There are few risks involved, if one plans properly. As for being into girls…" He smirked. "We all have hormones, do we not?"

…

"This… _can't_ be necessary."

Wing glanced over. Otto was scrutinizing the all-black clothing in his backpack, apparently still unhappy with the way it would look on him.

"Technically, we shouldn't even _own_ this stuff."

That was rather true, Wing mused, as he knelt, tying on combat boots, which were part of the P.E. uniform for triathlon and stomping-on-things and whatnot. Their stream's uniforms were black as well, but the color was the only thing their packed outfits had in common with their uniforms.

"How the heck did you get your hands on this?"

"The first time I snuck out, I was in my uniform. Then, I realized that it was a lot nicer to walk around in a different outfit."

"Huh." Otto shrugged, pushed the clothes into the backpack, and zipped it shut. "Um, do you mind if I ask…"

"Go on."

"…you've got something set up, right? I mean, we're not just going to sneak out and then… just kinda hang around waiting for something to happen, right?"

Wing gave him a slightly pitiful look. "Of course not, Otto. I have your entire evening all prepared."

"H-how? I mean, how did you…"

"Prepare it?"

"…yeah."

"I _have_ managed to accumulate contacts throughout my escapades."

"What _kind_ of contacts?"

"Good ones. Well, one in particular, really."

"... How did I never notice this?"

"You should have. You are the genius of the two of us. Unfortunately, the idiot-box was sapping—"

"My computer is _not_ an 'idiot-box'."

"Right. More of an oblivious-socially-unadapt-teen-making-box."

"That's hardly fair." Otto was indignant. "You don't seem especially socially adept yourself."

"At least, not that you know of." Wing finished lacing up his boots, then grinned at Otto. "Well? Are you going to go freshen up? This evening will see your first date."

Otto crinkled his nose. "Ugh, if you're expecting me to anoint myself with product or something, then _no_. I'm _not_ a girl."

Wing frowned. "Hey, watch what you say. Not all girls are like that."

Otto scoffed. "You'd know."

Wing raised his eyebrows, slinging his own backpack onto his shoulder. "Actually, I would. Lock the door from the outside with that computer-meld thing of yours on the way out, would you?"

At least until they reached the dining hall, the walk to the dining hall was uneventful. Although he'd long since memorized the patrol schedule by heart, Wing stopped them every so often to check around the corner. Wing was, as Otto had so accurately described, quite a ninja, silently padding down dimly lit corridors. Otto wasn't so bad himself, since this stealth was a bit of a requirement when one regularly snuck out at night to break into Professor Pike's storage room.

Unfortunately, they weren't they only frequent nighttime wanderers.

"畜生," Wing muttered, as they paused outside the mess hall.

"What?" Otto whispered. Living with Wing had forced him to learn the meaning of _that_ Japanese phrase long ago. "What's wrong?"

"Franz."

"Ohhh…" Otto frowned. "You think he'll notice us?"

"Possibly." Pursing his lips, Wing crept forward past the doorway, Otto following quietly behind.

Franz spun around, terror on his face. "Scheiße! Please, I am so sorry, I will not be doing this again I was just being so huuungry— Oh, it is being you lot!" He visibly relaxed, then tensed again. He continued in a markedly quieter volume. "Oh, I was being rather loud, ja? Ahaha…. Sorry about that…"

Wing nodded. "It is okay. Please keep it down, though. See you around, Franz."

"Have fun!" Franz whisper-yelled, turning back to the fridge behind the counter. After a moment though, he whirled back around. "Say… what is Otto doing with you? Oh, is he finally seeing the light? Herzlichen glückwunsch, Otto! I thought you would never be coming around!"

"Yeah," replied Otto. "But we'd better get going if we want to keep on schedule. See ya."

"Ja, have a great time!"

After that, there were no mishaps.

Wing quickly bypassed the lock leading to the rooftop garden, and they stepped through into the mildly chilly night. "Ready?"

"I guess." Otto grinned crookedly.

A moment later, they were grapplering down the side of the building with "borrowed" equipment from P.E.

Francisco probably wouldn't be tickled pink to see them using his precious toys.

Then again, he might.

As Wing felt the pleasant rush of the night air on his cheeks, an omen of a good night to come, he couldn't help but grin… and maybe play a little harmless James Bond music in his head.

…

Wing pulled out a cell phone the moment they landed. Otto stared at him flabbergastedly. "Now, where the hell did you get _that_?"

"Hm? Oh, that contact." He helped Otto stow their equipment, then started dialing a number.

"That _mysterious contact_. What else has he done for you?"

"_She_," Wing corrected.

"'She' what?"

"The '_mysterious contact'_ is not male."

"What? She's female?"

"And she would have just called you a sexist pig."

"If you think about it, it's not that hard to arrange for a cell phone and a cool evening, so I'm not impressed."

"Hello? Shel—… what? Oh, yes, we are ready." Pause. "A _motorcycle_?" Pause. "No, I have never… No, just because _you_ can in no way guarantees that _I_ can—" Pause. Otto stepped closer, intrigued, but all he could make out was rapid-fire chatter on the other end. "…all right. As long as it can get us there in one piece… a _bar?_ Shelby, we are underage! I—" Pause. Wing frowned. "Oh, one of your friends? I am not sure how I fell about intruding at this hour… Oh. I see. Well, then, you can meet us—"

A loud roar and blinding light split through the still nighttime air, and both boys took an involuntary jump backwards.

"How 'bout now?"

A laugh, as Wing and Otto slowly unshielded their eyes. The accent was distinctly American, and belonged to the distinctly feminine figure on the motorbike. Long blond hair was tied into a ponytail under her helmet, and her arms were crossed. She had a very satisfied look on her face. Otto couldn't help but notice with a grin Wing's expression.

"Let's hit the town, boys. It's time to party!"

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><p><em>To be continued…<em>

畜生 = Damn it. (Japanese)

Scheiße! = Shit! (German)

Herzlichen glückwunsch = Congratulations (German)


	2. Part II

**Happy Valentine's Day! *throws sparkly pink confetti***

**In celebration, I spent Saturday morning at archery shooting heart-shaped leaves tacked onto the target from 30 meters.**

**It was fun.  
><strong>

**I was listening to Chopin and WWII-era songs while writing this.**

**Don't ask.**

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><p><span>Les Amants de la<span>Nuit

_Part II_

The motorcycle ride was _really_…

…_REALLY_…

…_**scary**_.

For one, the three of them had quickly realized that motorcycles tend to seat two people at most, which meant that one _lucky fellow_ would be stowed into the sidecar that Shelby had had the foresight to bring along.

Otto's indignation had not, apparently, been enough to keep him out of that horrid little thing.

And every time he protested, she'd give him a slightly haughty look that plainly said, _I put you in that looks-like-a-baby-extension-of-a-bike-thingy and I can get you right back out of it, and no, I don't think I'll bother stopping the motorcycle while I'm doing that. _

For another, Shelby, apparently, quite enjoyed zipping through the streets like a demented biker out of Vegas (which, come to think of it, wasn't unlikely), and every time she rounded a corner, Otto was violently thrown to one side of the flimsy thing. He'd attempted several times to yell over the roar, "YOU KNOW, PHYSICS WOULD BE A _HUGE_ HELP TO YOU IF YOU INCREASED YOUR TRAJECTORY BY JUST A DEGREE OF—"

"THANKS, BUDDY, I'M COOOOL!"

After ten or so tries, he'd shut up.

For a _third_, Otto _couldn't_ help but make _just a few_ comments about the fact that Wing's arms were wrapped tightly around the blond girl's waist.

After all, while Shelby's expression held little more than biker-euphoria and grim determination (which actually looked pretty cool, when combined like that), Wing's face was priceless. His cheeks were red, though obviously not from the cold airstream, and he kept twitching his head to avoid a mouthful of hair.

"HEY, SHELBY, DOES THIS HAPPEN A LOT?"

"WHAT, THESE NIGHTTIME ESCAPADES?"

"NO, THIS LITTLE REVERSE-KNIGHT-AND-PRINCESS-ON-HORSEBACK-PHENOMEN—"

"HEY, KID, YOU WANT YOUR FACE IN THE STREET? I DIDN'T THINK SO. SO SHUT UP."

And though Otto was forbidden to mention it, both their faces were now tomato-red.

Which was funny.

Though the girl was still scary.

_Brrrr._

…

"Right, in we go." Shelby snatched the helmets off their heads, dumping them into Otto's former prison.

Wing looked up at the establishment uncertainly. "I do not know about this, Shelby. As I have said…"

"We're not gonna be having any alcohol here (disgusting shit it is), and we're not gonna be carded or anything. Like _I_ said, I know the girl whose family owns this place. They're away for the week in Scotland doing business like they do every month or so, and to make a little extra money to buy random stuff she's invited some acquaintances and I've invited some buddies so it's all gonna be pretty cool."

"Are we those '_buddies'_?"

Shelby shrugged. "I guess. Wing is, at least." She flashed the Asian boy a quick smile, then grabbed both of their wrists. "I was considerate enough to invite some buddies that you, Otto, might get along with. Female buddies. Come on."

"Wait, how do the other '_buddies_' manage to come around at this hour?"

"Dunno. I don't ask."

"How do _you_ manage to come around at this hour?"

"My parents don't know half of what I do."

Wing nodded. "Shelby's extracurricular activities are rather extraordinary."

Shelby shrugged, going a little pink. "Nah, they're nothing, really. Other than the fact that up until a few months ago, I was living in _gorgeous_ California, I'm no different from most of these kids here."

"That is a lie," Wing said simply. "Not the California part, the part about being ordinary."

"'Kay, so maybe my nocturnal activities deviate just a _little_ from the norm…" Shelby gestured for them to follow her into the building.

"What do you do?" Otto asked.

She gave him a look. "You're a nosy one, aren't you?" At his irked look, she laughed. "Don't worry. I'm pretty nosy, too. Get my nose into all the wrong places… and come out with quite a killing."

Otto didn't get it. He figured he never would.

The pub seemed to be a pretty nice place. The décor was pleasant, giving it a sort of homey look. A few kids around their age were lounging on armchairs and couches or around wooden tables. There was a bar along the back, where a couple of teens were sprawled, trying to look wasted (though their drinks were _obviously_ sparkling juice). A bored looking redhead sat behind the counter with her elbows on the mahogany wood, staring blankly at the mingling people.

Shelby nodded to several of them as she passed on her way to the bar, where she smoothly hopped onto one of the tall barstools, motioning or them to join her, which they did. With varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"So, now what?" Otto asked.

Shelby grinned. "Whatever you want. Go hang with those dudes yonder. Chat with those pretty girls. What-_ev_."

Wing frowned. "I would prefer to stay here with you."

"I was talking to Otto. No sane girl would send you off towards other females."

"?" Wing looked confused. "I do not understand…"

"Good." Shelby cleared her throat. "Now, Otto, off with you. Wing and I have business to attend to."

Otto, as nerdy and oblivious as he was, found himself rather quick to catch on. He smirked. "What 'business' exactly?"

"Fun stuff. Run along. Go on. Have fun. We'll be right here if you need us."

"Yes, Mama. Have fun with Papa." Feeling slightly huffy at such a blunt dismissal, Otto slid off the barstool.

However, he was rather eager to get started.

Time to show the female world what Malpense was made of!

…

_Five minutes later…_

Apparently, at least in the flirting division, Malpense wasn't made of much.

He gave the buzz-whispering group of girls in the corner a final withering glare, quickly making his irritated way back to the bar.

Wing and Shelby, who seemed to be laughing (Wing? _Laughing?_ My, my.) over something _really_ funny (_harrumph_), looked up as he approached.

"Wassup?" Shelby asked, looking vaguely interested. The girl behind the counter paused in some tinkering… Otto took a closer look. Was that scrap metal? He turned his attention back to Shelby.

"Um, nothing. Seriously. I'm fail at flirting."

Shelby smiled. "Cheer up, dear. It's only been a few minutes since you set out to take on the world, and since the establishment isn't in a riot, I'd say your first attempt was rather decent!"

"Fail," Otto said flatly.

"Nah…"

"Listen, Otto," Wing said severely. "I want you to go back out there and give it another go. Show them what you are made of."

"Is this so you can have more alone time with—" Shelby's smile got a little scary, so he stopped. "I mean, every time I say something, they look at me funny! I'm trying to be nice! I'm trying to be appealing! I'm trying—"

"I believe that the first time is always the most difficult," Wing said encouragingly. "Try again, Otto." He scooted closer. "And here are a few things you can try out..."

…

_Four minutes later…_

"Didn't work."

Shelby and Wing looked a little annoyed, but forced smiles as Otto moodily slouched back over.

"I give up."

Shelby looked horrified at the prospect of a grumpy third wheel. Or something. Otto couldn't read her mind exactly, but he assumed it was so.

"You cannot give up so easily," Wing said simply. "Perhaps you bungled up some of the pickup lines?"

Otto glowered at another random group of girls. They, too, were buzz-whispering like bees in a semi-silent film.

"Dunno."

"Otto," Shelby said, "perhaps Wing, being male (no offense, and no fault of yours whatsoever, Wing), was not able to provide you with the most _preeminent_ advice. Here's what _girls_ like to see, spoken to you by a girl _herself_."

The girl behind the counter snorted and continued drying a row of glass tumblers.

…

_Three minutes later…_

"For some _unfathomable_ reason, I feel like I'm running a race on a treadmill."

Wing looked over bemusedly. "You are what?"

"Running a race on a treadmill. You know… getting nowhere. Since I'm on a treadmill. And everyone around me _seems_ to be going at a pretty good clip. Where's Shelby?"

"Bathroom."

Otto looked over the counter. "Where'd the barista-bartender-bored-person go?"

"Bathroom."

Otto sat down on the recently vacated stool next to Wing, crossing his arms on the bar and plopping his chin on top of it. "Huh. Could use something to drink right now."

There was a pause, as Wing tried to come up with something to say to console his friend.

His attempts were in vain.

"Hopeless, I tell you, I'm hopeless!" Otto semi-wailed with a pained expression. "I don't know what I keep doing wrong, but it's all ju—"

"Perhaps now you understand why I kept nagging you to get your nose out of that laptop."

"No, actually. In fact, I'm starting to realize why I left it in there that long."

"That lump of metal was programming your mind to tune out the rest of the world, which is why you now feel so detached."

"Um, to tell you the truth, _I_ was programming the laptop. Not the other way around."

"What language do you use?"

Both boys spun around. The girl behind the bar was back, and she had her head inclined to one side curiously. They assumed she was the one who had spoken. Her accent had a hue of Scottish.

"Sorry?" said Wing.

"I asked White Hair here what language he uses. I like Python, but sometimes C+ is necessary for certain things, and there are other languages I've found to be—"

"You… you're into programming?" Otto asked incredulously.

"Uh, yeah? That a problem?" The girl narrowed her eyes. "Girls can do anything boys can, you know. Usually better. Though I don't fault you for not knowing and-or realizing that, since as Shelby tells me, you've been totally out of it for… well, a long time."

"You… you're into programming?"

"Yes," she said patiently, as if Otto was a little slow. "I _am_. And software design, and encryption, and all that other geeky stuff. Isn't that funny?"

Otto glanced to the side. Wing had mysteriously vanished, materializing on a sofa across the room next to Shelby, who was smiling smugly. "What… what was that thing you were fiddling with earlier? The bits of metal and… and plastic, I think…"

"Oh, this?" She pulled out a vaguely humanoid contraption. "Work in progress. I took apart my old graphing calculator."

Otto took it gingerly in his hands. "That's… impressive."

She grinned. "Thanks. What's your name?"

"Otto," he replied, in a bit of a daze. _How had this all…_ Oh. Shelby. Of course. "Otto Malpense."

"Nice to meet you, Otto," the girl held out her hand. "I'm Laura Brand."

He shook it. Laura seemed really nice. She was the most down-to-earth girl he'd met all night. "Have you messed around in any other fields?"

"I tried building a computer last year, but I ran out of funds to complete it. That's part of the reason I've been doing this lately, every time my folks leave for Scotland. They own a pub up there, as well. Don't ask me why. My uncle owns it. He was the one who got me interested in this geeky stuff." She laughed. "How about you? Who got you interested?"

Otto scratched his head. "I don't know, actually. I've just been really into computers for as long as I can remember."

"I'll show you some of the other stuff I've played around with." She slid off her stool, inclining her head to indicate that he should follow. "My room's upstairs. Anyone else would think it's boring and ridiculously nerdy, but I think you'll like it."

"Okay," said Otto. He briefly wondered whether he was being antisocial, what with his short answers, but Laura seemed pretty content to hold up the conversation. And for once, it was a conversation that he could relate to, that didn't bore/irritate him to death and cause him to retreat back to the shelter of his computer.

He was starting to really like this Laura.

She was pretty, too.

Unconsciously, he reached up to subtly adjust his spiky hair, then followed her out of the pub.

…

_Across the room, in a comfy sofa…_

Shelby pumped a fist in triumph. "WHAT."

"What?" asked Wing.

"Wing, dear, when a victor says 'WHAT', they mean 'BOO-YEAH'." Shelby cackled, exhilarated by the thrill of success. "Hah! I _always _ win."

Wing didn't bother asking the meaning of that last locution. "So, I gather you have deemed your accomplishment a victory?"

"Heck, yeah. I mean, he's following her up to her room." She sighed in satisfaction, reclining against the back of the sofa. Wing was acutely aware of the fact that her hair brushed his shoulder. He twitched, though it was not uncomfortable.

"I believe that is so that he may see what else she has done in the geeky division."

"Sure."

"You have further sentiments."

"Yup."

Shelby glanced at a conveniently located old clock on the wall. "Hey, it's past midnight."

"Indeed."

"Happy Valentine's Day, Wing."

"And you."

Shelby beamed. "The Ottra scheme isn't my only plot tonight."

Wing raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Cuz guess what? Cupid ain't done here. She's got her own business to mind."

Wing didn't bother asking what _that_ meant, either, especially since her head suddenly fell on his shoulder and stayed there.

He figured he'd see for himself. After all, the night was still young.

FIN

* * *

><p><strong>Here's to Valentine's Day success for those who seek it <em>(-the pigeon claims no responsibility for any debacles andor disappointments-)_, to triumphs for all ye cupids (rock on, y'all), and, most of all, to the writers who will and have always used the lovely day of February the 14th _solely_ to glean/harvest… *cough*… _ideas and inspiration_… for stories _de l'amour_.**

**And crack.**

**Because if I were to put to paper the things _I_ witness on Valentine's Day, they'd pretty much all fall under that genre.**

**Yeah.**

**On a different note, I've recently noticed that I'm getting an audience from all sorts of countries like Malta and Singapore, which is beyond cool. If you happen to want to review, and if you review in foreign language, I think I'd spazz out from overload of awesome-ness.**

**I have a thing for languages.  
><strong>

…

**Peace out, world!**


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